phantrump
by NoWindForThisHole
Summary: phantump trumps the donald


Donald Trump woke up from a horrible dream, jumping up so high he smashed his head on the ceiling hard enough that he fell back asleep. Donald had a much better dream this time and woke up good as new. He rolled out of bed and slid into his knickers. It was hot out, so he didn't put on his shirt.

It was Donald Trump's birthday, and Professor Oak had told him to come by his house for a "present." Oak had been referring to no less than his raging fun lever, but he'd run out of viagra too soon. Lacking male enhancement, Oak had to scrape the rest his dead wife's bank account clean to come up with something that would at least give Donald Trump a little gift for such a big day.

Trump rammed down the door of Oak's lab with his literally 8-inch thick skull, almost giving the old geezer a heart attack, but not quite. Donald plopped his butt down on a swiveling chair and waited with the excitement of a parent finding out that their least favorite child was in critical condition after getting hit by a car.

Oak was sweating like a sprinkler system. He hastily reached into a bag filled with stuff he'd recently received from his mail-order bride from Kalos. Within the bag were objects. Among them was a Phantump that had been surviving solely on fermenting Roseli Berries. Oak was bedazzled. "You cute," he said. "Ready to go with Tonald?"

Phantump whimpered and munched on another moldy berry. He was high.

"That's my girl!" Oak screamed at the top of his lungs. He chucked the poor creature in the direction of Trump.

Remembering his old Little League days, Donald promptly ran three yards away from the Pokemon and began bawling his face off.

"Good eye, Donald!" Oak said. "But you should probably take that thing to a Pokemon Center."

"Good thinkin', pops!" said Crump. He picked up Phantump by the floob and scooted to the Pokemon Center.

Inside, Nurse Joy was waiting with her nostrils flared. She was wearing a shirt with the boobs cut out. "Welcome to Pokemon Central!" she said. "Would you like me to 'heal' your 'Pokemon' 'for' you?"

Donald decided to try out his French. "Owie."

"Alright then. Gimme."

Donald flourished the broken Phantump. "Icky."

Joy halfheartedly tossed it back into Chansey's arms. "The only thing I wanna restore is your sex drive." She spread her ass and presented it to Trump. As the two lovebirds humped right on the reception desk in the middle of the lobby full of people, Chansey began patching Phantump up.

Phantump sighed. "Damn it, Chansey, what am I doing wrong?"

"What do you mean?" Chansey asked, attempting to shove an egg in Phantump's mouth.

"Whenever I try to flirt with someone, I always go and fuck it up," Phantump said. "Donald is the finest bitch I've seen in years, even if I have only known him for a few minutes. You can just tell sometimes, you know?"

"So what's the problem? Quit being such a baby," Chansey motivated, stroking Phantump's tump. "If you want to ask someone out, you just gotta go ahead and do it. You know, I met an Audino once. Guy came up to me one day and told me, 'Girl, all I want to do is cover your whole body in whipped cream and lick it off.' It was kind of creepy, but damn he was trying. So I let him do exactly that. It made me feel young again, it was great. You should try it sometime."

Phantump righted his mask. "Thanks, Chansey. I feel better now, I think I'm gonna go talk to Donald now."

"Great!" Chansey said, a tear in her eye. "Go get your dream booty."

Phantump floated back to the lobby. Joy was hunched over a chair with three cigars in her mouth, shaking all over. Donald was standing proudly, overlooking the shocked audience of mortified children. His suit was coated with a thin layer of yeast flakes.

Phantump poked Trump in the back of the neck. "Hey man, wanna go to that gay bar down the street?"

The reddened man turned around. "Anything for my princess."

And so Trump and Phantump went to the bar and got drunk and got married and boinked and made little Phantrumps.

Goodbye.


End file.
